


Two Cups of Starbucks but I really Need Three

by terminallyCosplay



Series: October Verse [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, MULLIGAN DESERVES NICE THINGS, POV Shift to Mulligan for this one, coffee shop AU, im sorry, october verse, oh gosh, takes place after Should Be Loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminallyCosplay/pseuds/terminallyCosplay
Summary: Mulligan wishes that he could just walk into a damn starbucks without thinking about Lafayette.~~~~~~How Hercules met Lafayette and how he sees him still.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot takes place after "Should be Loved" but isn't really necessary to have read. This is another excerpt of trying to get some of my headcanons, this time surrounding Lafayette, out without taking away from the main story line of Octoberverse.

You can’t go into a Starbucks anymore without your imagination leading you straight back to Lafayette, and it’s one of the most aggravating things in the world, when all you want to do is order a damn coffee and get on with your day. That is literally all you fucking want in this world. Order a coffee, leave. You can’t do that. You rush back to when you first met him. It was before John, before the puppy, it was before when Lafayette was only yours. You miss those days; you don’t miss those days. It’s a bit of a disaster in your head, the times marked Before and the times marked After. You regret none of it in the end, somehow. You’ve managed to work past the guilt of it all. You go through this roller coaster every day you order a damn coffee. You contemplate never having coffee out again. You honestly never want to give up the memory of meeting him. 

Him, as if the word somehow can wrap around him, define him, contain the idea of him in you. You don't think him is a big enough word. You don't think it's enough because three letters equal up to a lot more of space and ideas and revelations you have about  _him._

Meeting Lafayette was the single best experience in your life, as well as one of the worst. You realize yourself that these things go hand in hand. Accidentally pushing John Laurens off a ledge was one of the worst things you’ve done, it had one of the best outcomes. You didn’t know it was a different fucking barista than normal. That was an accident, one that you both regret and also don’t regret at the same time. It had been one of the first days of fall when you had gone in, and during some city miracle, the Starbucks was empty. There was only you and the workers, so you didn’t even have to wait in line. The man at the register had looked up at you, and in your half-awake state, you assumed it was someone you knew.

“What can I get started for you?” he had asked.

“The usual,” you had responded, barely glancing up from where you could actually get exact change for once.

“And what is that?”

“Don’t jerk me around, Thom. Your french accent is shittier than normal, too.”

It hadn’t been Thomas.

You had been embarrassed by it- the two of them were strikingly alike, and you only knew Thomas through the Starbucks. You guys weren’t friends, you talked because sometimes you had taken the bus together before you had the SUV. You apologized a lot, but every other employee there laughed, and Lafayette laughed, and that was it. That laugh, the way his silhouette changed as his head slightly tilted back, you wanted to wrap that shape in anything, to keep it. To sustain it. When you were a student they had taught you to study shapes, and you couldn’t get enough of Lafayette’s.

You never frequented Starbucks more than in those first few months. You weren’t a great sketcher, your dress designs were sloppy at best, your teacher hated them, loved your work, your skills, your tailoring, but when it came to Lafayette, you were sunk. You’d carry two sketchbooks with you. One was for your designs. The other was for Lafayette. It was embarrassing how many times you tried to catch him. The way his neck curved, how his slicked ponytail moved in the light, you wanted to catch it all. You sketched him, you sketched how he wrote your name on a cup with Sharpie. You never saw him once just print it out on the sticker and slap it on. You liked these things about him. You filled up sketch book after sketch book. Your drawing skills were so improved, your style changed to the ease of androgyny and how you loved that shape. You loved his shape, if you were being completely honest. You hated being honest. You hated how much you had to admit it. You hated how much you needed too.

Things were perfect, things were smooth. Things were exactly how you wanted them to be. You wanted to be this close to Lafayette every day and to never be further away or any closer. The more you wanted things, the more you realize that fate doesn’t give them to you. That’s how things go when you’re Hercules Mulligan. So that one day, when you went in, things had to change. For once, Thom and Lafayette were both there, things changed. You had rarely seen them together, you didn't realize that the two of them existing long term in the same space could be so problematic.

It was problematic.

There was a fucking argument going on behind the counter, with a frazzled Lafayette and Thomas hurling threats and insults at each other in French. You were confused. They were the only two on and it was so late that it was just the three of you. They stopped for a second, the air and static hard and heavy with the threat of a fight on their hands. They looked to you, and now it was so easy to tell them apart. So easy.

Thomas was the first to back down, bristling and storming off to go sweep somewhere. Lafayette merely smiled, coming to the counter.

“What the fuck’s going on in here?” You finally ask.

Lafayette merely shrugs, murmurs an apology and then continues on with his life as if there’s nothing going on, asking if you wanted your usual. You shrug, then stop his hand from going to the cup.

“That was pretty bad, and I’m pretty sure there were some nasty things thrown in there,” you stated. "My French isn't great, but I'm learning." 

Lafayette's lips tug, trying to move into a smile, and you watch them for a second.

“Ah, I just was telling him about how I thought it best if I move to a different Starbucks, closer to school or something, the commute is killing me, you know? He says it’s for other reasons, it is not-“

“I won’t be able to see you.”

The words were out of your mouth before you had even really put the thoughts together. Lafayette had quirked a bitter smile, that changed into the one that dazzled you.

“Sometimes, separation is really for the best, non?”

You realized three fundamental truths at the exact same time.

  1. You weren’t just using him as a muse for sketching and for design, you kind of had a massive crush on the guy.
  2. When Lafayette used that smile, things were not okay. Things were really not good at all. You had seen him use that smile way too many damn times in the past few months.
  3. That smile, in that moment, was being used in conjunction with you in particular. You were the reason that he was looking like that.



“Did I do something wrong?”

The words are once again out, and he shakes his head too quickly, breathes in too quickly, everything is too quick, too quick, too quick. The answer is yes.

“Look man, if I did, you have to let me know. You make this drink way fucking better than Thomas and I don’t want to lose my favorite barista.”

He laughs, a little bit of that mask slipping away.

“I don’t want to get too attached to anyone in the states, in case my visas don’t get renewed, or something,” he had told you.

You never bring it up. Even when the two of you chat, you don’t bring it up, because it feels wrong. Immigration, things like that. Lafayette was from Lafayette, enjoyed going by that name instead of his real one. You don’t blame him, his real name is both beautiful and a target for a young Frenchman. He just shrugs his shoulders, and that’s the first time in your life where you’re about to witness Lafayette crumble. His existence in New York City rested in a green card.

“I just know it’s silly, every day I see you, and I just got used to you, you know? So I wait till I see you, and then my day is complete, and I need to see you in order for that to happen,” Lafayette finished lamely.

Shit, since when did your heart start beating that fast and that loud? Could he hear it? You swallow.

“See, that is the face I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to see you so… not reacting well to the revelation.”

You’re an idiot, and in the next moment, you’re leaning across the counter and trying to kiss him. You can’t reach across far enough to him. He leans in, kisses your cheek.

“So that is how you feel too? That is good. We can reach some arrangement then,” he says.

You can feel your cheeks starting to hurt from how much you smile.

Later on, when you finally get to the townhouse, Lafayette is there waiting for you.

“Did you bring the kids?”

“Non, Ham and Laurens are doing their own thing tonight, it’s their turn. I got to spend last date night with Laurens.”

You nod and sit next to him. The dating structure around Lafayette and Laurens had needed a lot of work, a lot of patience. If Alexander Hamilton could learn to share, so could you. Besides, Lafayette was more vibrant now. Learning to let him love had made him much more wonderful to you. You kiss his hand and he smiles, relaxing. One day, he might trust you enough to know that that jealousy died when Laurens almost did. He puts his legs into your lap, and you don’t complain. His calves are kind of a line that you find yourself touching, tracing. You’ve traced those calves before, painted over them. He’s lounging in the harem sweatpants you’ve made him, and you’re pleased. He let out a little hum as your hands move over them. You aren't surprised by the fact he's shaved them again. You move your way up on his legs, kissing his knees and he laughs. He loves when you pay attention to body parts that don’t make sense to pay attention to. You want to pay attention to all of them. He’s thin- not as thin as Jefferson, but still thin, but you like that there’s enough to still hold onto. You take his hips in your hands, and he laughs again, bright. You kiss up his side. He squirms, pulling you until you’re suddenly on top of him. He smiles up at you.

“So today was not so bad, was it?” he asked.

“It’d be better if I could walk into a damn Starbucks without thinking of you,” you comment.

“What can I get started for you today?” he asks.

You could love Lafayette forever, really. 

That would be enough.


End file.
